Right yet wrong
by kookykey
Summary: When Tony is forced to take drastic measures, can he live with what he has done. It may have been the right choice, but to him it feels so wrong.
1. prologue

_Prologue_

_Tony stares unwaveringly at the ground he is perched upon, his eyes are glazed, his hands are shaking and he is immensely grateful that for the moment his mind is remaining blissfully blank. For the first time in his life he would happily welcome the dark oblivion of unconsciousness. He actually craves it._

_Because he knows, with the most certainty that he has ever had about anything, that the moment the full impact of what he has just done hits, it could very well be the end of him. He will never again look at himself in the same way, he will no longer be the person he's worked so hard to become. The person he so desperately wanted to be will cease to exist._

_So he's pushing it away with all that he has, locking it away in the darkest corners of his mind and hopes that somehow it will just stay there._

_Unfortunately he knows better. There is no escaping this, no room for denial. No way to block out the events that happened today._

_They will haunt him for the rest of life._

_..._

_He is trying not to look at the vivid redness of McGee's neck. He tries not to think of how hard he must have been held to leave that kind of mark. He tries to ignore the way his probie is shaking. Kid must have been terrified_

_He is trying not to stare at the body bag being loaded into the M.E van. He is trying not to think of who is in it. _

_He is trying not to notice the blood on his hands, which is a ridiculous notion, because in reality his hands are clean, but somehow he knows that they will be forever stained._

_..._

_He eventually raises his head, only to falter as his eyes lock with Ducky's solemn ones, he turns away, unable to bear the pity shining in his direction._

_He does not deserve pity, he does not deserve anything, not after what he has just done._

_He is vaguely aware of Gibbs crouching in front of him, he can't catch the words, but then notices a paramedic hovering off to the side._

_Then it dawns on him that he should be in pain. His ribs should ache and burn, his face should sting, his head should be pounding relentlessly. But he can't feel it._

_His physical injuries are rendered inconsequential compared to the agony of his heart splintering into thousands of shards, the agony of his soul ripping apart inside him._

_He is shocked back into the land of the living by a hand on his shoulder, he glances up into the impenetrable gaze of Leroy Jethro Gibbs and fights the urge to bury his head in the older man's chest and never resurface. _

"_I won't ask if you're okay"_

_He doesn't speak, he thinks he's lost the ability to form words._

"_You did the right thing Tony"_

_He sounds so sure and on some level he knows Gibbs is right, he really didn't have a choice. That knowledge doesn't make the pressure on his shoulders weigh any less._

"_I know Boss, that's not really the question though is it?"_

_His voice doesn't sound right, he sounds detached, lifeless, broken._

"_Nope, question is, can you live with yourself?"_

_Gibbs looks as tortured as he feels and he thinks that maybe he already knows the answer to that._

_Now isn't the time to be weak, now isn't the time to sit wallowing on the side walk._

_He stares into the other man's eyes and attempts to project the strength that he doesn't feel._

"_I guess we'll find out"_

_..._


	2. 3 days earlier

_3 days earlier_

No one pays him much attention as he saunters into the bullpen in his typical fashion, his trademark grin fixed firmly in place. McGee looks rather fed up, hunched around his computer, no doubt finishing his report on their most recent case. He feels quite happy that his own is already done and dusted. Ziva's too apparently, if the cold case she's flicking through is any indication. Gibbs is nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning probies"

They barely glance at him, but both utter a disinterested greeting in reply.

He resists the urge to sigh at the not so warm welcome. Oh he knows why he's getting the cold shoulder, yesterday was a slow day, and Tony was bored. A bored Tony DiNozzo is also an irritating one, and he took great pleasure in tormenting the other two agents. He apparently took it a little too far.

It turns out to be another uneventful morning, much like the mostly uneventful month they've just had. The cases have for once been simple and straightforward, easily solved without any stress being caused. The only minor incident was his spectacular fall down a flight of steps while pursuing a suspect. He mostly only injured his pride, a few bruises that were more of an annoyance, rather than being actually painful. Of course he was still herded straight to Ducky for a thorough examination, then for the rest of day had to put up with not so funny comments and remarks about his apparent clumsiness.

But apart from that, things for once were running smoothly in his usually complicated existence. That of course set his teeth on edge because he could just feel that something was bound to go horribly wrong. He was due a new set of scars to add to his collection.

However he didn't allow his mind to dwell on that for long, maybe this time he would be lucky. He held back a chuckle at the thought. Lucky isn't a word he would ever use to describe himself.

Cursed, however has always seemed very apt.

...

"Grab your gear"

The bellowed order was accompanied by Gibbs as he strode towards his desk, appearing as usual from seemingly nowhere.

He was on his feet, bag on his back, gun on his hip before he'd even processed the words, the instinctual response was so instilled in him he probably did it in his sleep.

"Going somewhere nice boss?"

"Petty officer found dead in his kitchen"

"That would be a no then"

The only answer Tony got was a head slap.

...

As it turned out the Petty officers kitchen turned out to be in his 7th floor apartment in a building with no elevator.

"Be careful on the stairs Tony"

"Yes Tony, be sure to hold the railing"

Ah, it seems his underlings have decided to quit the silent treatment, to make fun of him instead.

He chooses not to comment, he suddenly doesn't have the energy to enter a verbal sparring match.

"Dog got your tongue Tony"

"It's cat not dog Zi-va, and maybe I just don't see the funny side"

She scoffs loudly at him. "You see the funny side to everything"

"I could have broken my neck you know"

In all honesty that doesn't really concern him, and if it was anybody else he'd be teasing them just as much. Hell, usually he'd be able to take it too, but today he feels odd, and the happy facade he was usually so good at projecting was slipping just a little. His rubber like barriers that usually allowed things to bounce right off him is filled with holes.

"Well, that would have done us all a favour"

It takes him a moment to comprehend what Ziva just said, and he really has no comment. He stares blankly in front of him and tells himself that it was just a joke, she didn't mean it. _Don't take it to heart DiNozzo._

"You guys don't shut up ill head slap ya so hard _that_ will break your necks"

They walk up the rest of the stairs in silence, and Tony tries not to remember the last time he heard that comment.

...

_He's barely seven and he's sat in the back of one of his father's fancy cars. He's on his way home. Finally. He isn't quite sure how long he spent in the hospital, but it was definitely too long._

_He really doesn't like the hospital._

_Mostly because no one ever comes to see him. The nurses may fuss over him but it doesn't take away his yearning for his mother to just come and hold his hand. She never does._

_He tries to ignore the way his seat belt cuts into his still tender belly, complaining is not tolerated from him. He can't remember the name of what he had, it was long and too difficult to remember, he just recalls the blinding pain and waking up and being told he had to have an operation, that he was a very brave boy._

_Excitement quickly replaces his discomfort as they begin up the lane leading to the DiNozzo mansion, he hopes his mother will be happy to see him. He knows better than to think his father will be. But you never quite know with his mother, the maids say she has mood swings._

_She greets him the doorway and pulls him into a tight embrace that makes his belly scream in protest, but he doesn't care. Because she's here and she's holding him and what more could he possibly need?_

_She then ushers him down the hall and into her beloved music room, she plays him soft melodies that sound as beautiful as she is._

_He likes these moments when his mother is kind and loving, when she offers attention rather than dismissal. He doesn't understand it a whole lot but he hears the whispers about the sickness that plagues her, how it messes with her mind. But when she smiles at him like he's the only thing in the world he can't help but forgive her for everything else._

"_The nurses told me how brave you were Anthony"_

_For a minute he wants to ask why she had to find out from the nurses, he wants to ask why she couldn't come and see for herself._

_As always he holds his tongue and smiles politely._

"_Appendicitis is very serious, you could have died you know"_

_She says it so casually, and the pain he's been dutifully blocking out screams at him._

"_That was very selfish of you"_

_He recoils from the tone he knows only too well, it's icy coldness so at odds with the women that greeted him with such warmth._

"_I, I'm s..s..sorry" _

"_Don't let your Father Catch you stuttering like that"_

_The words are harsh and vicious and he really doesn't want to be home anymore._

"_GET OUT"_

_He runs._

_,,,_

_He tries to stand upright like he is expected too, but it's taking all he has not to cry out in pain. He's biting his lip that hard he can taste blood._

"_I hear you upset your mother today"_

_The man hasn't even welcomed him home, it shouldn't hurt anymore, but even at his young age, he somehow knows it always will._

"_Yes sir"_

"_May I ask why?"_

_He swallows down the dread when he watches his father pour yet another drink._

"_Because I got sick sir"_

_His father shakes his head briefly before knocking back the liquid in his glass._

"_So weak" he mutters._

_That can't be right can it? If he could have died doesn't that mean he was strong, because he didn't?_

"_I was strong sir, because I didn't die"_

_His father looks him in the eyes now, he forces himself to hold the gaze and ignore the disappointment shining back at him._

"_Excuse me?"_

"_Mother said that I could have died"_

_He chuckles, but Tony doesn't think it's the right kind of laughter, it's dark and frankly quite scary._

"_Well that would have done us all a favour"_

_Well what can he say to that?_

_He just stares numbly and tries to chase away the tears._

_He wakes up the next morning with a swollen lip, but he didn't notice the blow._

_It was nothing compared to the one landed on his heart._

_..._

Something is off with his senior field agent. Tony is not acting like Tony.

The way he bristled at his teammates ribbing, when usually he'd be giving as good as he got.

The blank, almost glazed look in his eyes and the undeniable tension in his shoulders as he climbed the stairs.

The automatic way he began to process the scene, no spark, no energy, no life.

These days where Tony moves on auto pilot are happening more and more regularly.

The days where he can't quite keep up his eternal joker image.

The days where his mask begins to slip.

Truth is, it scares him a little, DiNozzo needs his masks, like he needs his boat. He depends on them, survives behind them, and his gut is telling him that they are about to be shattered.

He wonders what's left of the man underneath.

..

**A/N. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and those who placed this story on alert, I really appreciate it.**

**I know it a bit of a slow start, but please stick with it!**

**Kookykey**

**.x.**


	3. Outsider

By the time they arrived back at the office his odd mood had turned into a downright foul one. His teammates, instead of noticing that he really wasn't in the mood to trade insults, decided to take ample opportunity to torment him every time the boss was out of earshot. Payback for yesterday he supposes. But god he wishes they would just let him be.

Yeah right, keep dreaming DiNozzo.

He fights the silly urge to bury his head in his hands and not come back up for the rest of the day.

God, what was wrong with him? Why was it all of a sudden so hard to pretend he was fine?

After all, he _was_ fine.

He ignored the niggling voice in the back of his mind saying otherwise.

It was a voice he very rarely listened too.

...

He needed to calm himself down, take a step back and reset the DiNozzo default button.

Go back to light hearted banter, overly bright smiles and an arrogant nature, he needed to get his shields back up.

Right now his nerves were frayed and his emotions way too close to the surface for comfort. Loosing himself in that memory had been careless, stupid, and_ dangerous._ He doesn't need anyone realising how screwed up he really is. He's worked hard to put that all behind him. He has spent his entire adult life doing his best to forget all that shit.

Most of the time he was successful, nobody ever really guessed how damaging his childhood actually was, except Gibbs of course, but the man was practically supernatural, he didn't count. Ducky didn't count either, being a doctor and all, he's treated him several times, he's seen the scars that he can't hide without his expensive clothing.

As far as everyone else he's ever met is concerned his father ignored him, nothing more nothing less, sometimes he can almost believe that himself.

But every now and then the memories of so much hurt manage to bleed through the cracks of his not so flawless armour and everything he's pushed away starts pushing back.

This time all it took was a sentence, a stupid comment meant as a joke, that cut straight through all his layers of protection and hit the cowering child he kept hidden underneath.

That was all that set off this little meltdown, Ziva's words. Nothing else. It has nothing to do with the unopened white envelope sitting in the bottom drawer of his desk.

No, it has nothing to do with that at all.

...

_He imagines if he carries on staring he will eventually burn a hole through the part of the floor that is suddenly so interesting to him. If Gibbs catches him day dreaming there'll be hell to pay._

_But he has nothing to do, if he even glances at another cold case file he might scream, that, or rip it up into tiny pieces, maybe even both._

_He finally manages to snap out of it and catches sight of the mailman pottering about, he looks at his desk and figures he might as well open some of his own mail, it is starting to mount up._

_He flicks through the pile with very little interest. Does anyone exciting ever send him letters? _

_He suddenly drops the entire stack as though it burned him, his eyes fixated on the seemingly innocent envelope that landed haphazardly in front of him._

_O god he can't breathe, he can feel the panic beginning to swallow him, his entire body is shaking and he just can't tear his gaze away from the all too familiar hand writing, it doesn't matter how long it's been since he's seen it, he knows exactly who it belongs too._

_Question is, why now? Why contact him now? After all this time. He knows only thing, the answer will not mean anything good for him. _

_A surge of adrenaline has him grabbing the cause of his distress and shoving it in the bottom drawer and locking it quickly afterward. It is then he realises just how heavy his breathing is._

_He collects himself as best as he can and glances up to see if anyone noticed his little freak out, by the looks of things they didn't, or maybe they did and they just don't care?_

_Personal history makes him more inclined to believe the latter._

_..._

"DINOZZO"

He's forced back into the present by a hand connecting with the back of his head. He pulls himself from his recollection and vaguely notices Ziva's concerned expression trained in his direction, he disregards that and instead focuses on what he call his bosses 'glare of doom' that is currently fixed in his direction, but there is also a softness in Gibbs eyes that he wishes he was too clueless to notice. He wonders if the echo of the panic he felt that day is emanating of him.

"You paid to investigate or stare into space DiNozzo"

The usual bite is there in the tone, but he can sense an undercurrent of something else, something he doesn't want to put a name too. He needs gruff Gibbs right now. Anything else might just unravel him. He's frayed at the seams enough as it is.

_Pull yourself together!_

"Investigate boss, staring into space is just a perk"

He smiles way too brightly and fights down the wince at how fake it feels.

"You actually do any work? You found anything?"

Was he looking for something?

Oh. Right. The Petty Officer. The case.

"Nothing stands out boss"

He knows that won't placate his boss, but his brain still won't fully engage the conservation he's currently partaking in. If Gibbs notices the way his attention keeps flicking back to that _damned drawer _he doesn't comment.

He's saved from his current lapse in communication skills, as McGee jumps in with a report that the senior field agent should have delivered. He watches as Ziva joins in and they tag team in delivering everything they've discovered. They've done a good job, and he feels proud of his probies.

But as he watches the three of them throw theories back and forth, with him silent and forgotten, his input obviously not required, the clarity of the fact that he is not needed burns so brilliantly bright.

And he can't help but wonder when he became an outsider in his own team.

**A/N. Thank you all so much for reviewing and alerting! I appreciate all and any sort of feedback.**

**I did want to point out though, as I got a review that mentioned McGee's death, that I didn't actually intend for it to sound like he had died, after reading over I could see how that conclusion could be drawn and I will be going back to amend that section of the story. I am so sorry for any confusion, but McGee will be alive in this story. I can't apologize enough for giving anyone the wrong impression.**

**Kookykey**

**.x.**


	4. 2 days earlier

_2 days earlier_

He walks in, coffee in his hand in a direct stride to his desk. He suddenly stops short at the sight of Tony fast asleep, sprawled across his keyboard. He resists the urge to sigh at the sight. It's not the first time he's been here at the crack of dawn and found the younger man sleeping in varying positions around his desk, but it is the first time he's found him here seven mornings in a row.

DiNozzo apparently hasn't wanted to go home for a week.

He wants to know what's going on, and he wants to know now. He doesn't care that he sounds like a petulant child, something is eating at his agent, something has obviously happened, but as always Tony is not talking.

Most would see that as a contradiction, at odds with the man's personality. But Tony could prattle on about movies all day long, but when it comes to the important things, the things that actually matter its like someone has super glued his lips shut.

He doesn't think he's ever had a completely open and honest conversation with DiNozzo

He doesn't even think Tony would know how to.

Misdirection is his default reaction, when things get personal he is the master at deflecting, and he is so damn cut off from the world, living alone on DiNozzo island, the water too rough for anyone to be able to reach him. He tries not to resent Tony for the way he isolates himself, he tries not to hate the fact that his need to keep people away is so deeply ingrained in him, that he doesn't know how to be any other way.

Tony DiNozzo does not understand the concept of letting someone in.

He doesn't come across that way of course, to people who don't know better, which is pretty much everyone, DiNozzo is open and friendly, they believe in the happy facade, they believe that famous grin of his is real.

And the one that cuts really deep, people accept Tony to be an overgrown frat boy, a player, and an immature prankster oozing with arrogance. They label him as a shallow, materialistic idiot , and for some reason the man is happy with that.

DiNozzo is not one of those things, but that doesn't mean his senior agent won't swear till he's blue in the face that he is.

And that has always been his biggest issue with Tony, the way he allows people to price him under value, the way he pretends to be less than he is, the way he projects an intricately built persona to hide who he really is.

His inability to understand annoys him, sure he might choose to display a gruff demeanour and he might not admit that he cares as much as he should, but ultimately he is who he is and he's never felt the need to try and be any different.

He often wonders just what has been done to this man to force him to create a mask for every emotion, and he feels anger towards whoever it was that made Tony so afraid to just be himself.

He knows Tony needs his masks like normal people need air, and he has a horrifying suspicion that the real tony doesn't really exist anymore. Even if managed to get through all the barriers he's put up, if he got him to drop the masks, would anything be revealed? Is there anything left underneath?

And for the millionth time since he's met the younger man, he asks himself a question that he doesn't think he will ever find an answer too.

_Who the hell is Anthony DiNozzo?_

...

The ding of the elevator announcing McGee's arrival sends him sailing back to the present moment and he realises he is still standing there staring at DiNozzo's sleeping form.

He forces his thoughts to the back of his mind and wills them to stay dormant.

Musing on the inner workings of Tony DiNozzo is best left for the basement, where he has a boat to take out his frustration when he just can't _get it. _Where he has bourbon to drown out the sadness of the fact that he isn't able to reach the man he has grown to care deeply about.

"Morning Boss"

He nods in reply to McGees greeting and sits himself at his desk, he watches as Tim stares at Tony with a slight frown on his face, a touch of concern in his eyes.

"Is he okay Boss?"

Well that's not the easiest question to answer, pretty sure Tony himself doesn't know the honest answer to that one.

"Any reason he shouldn't be?"

Oh he can think of few, he can think of things that would never even occur to McGee.

"Well yesterday we were...well me and Ziva were... ya know teasing him and stuff, just the uh usual boss, like always, and well he didn't seem to take it all that well. He didn't really seem himself"

And isn't that the truth, Tony's sullen demeanour the day before was evident for the whole world to see and that makes him nervous, he is usually a much better liar.

"Well maybe you should just lay off a little Tim"

Leave him be, let him get a handle on his crumbling defences.

"Uh right boss"

He can tell McGee's confused and slightly worried, that he doesn't understand why Tony isn't acting like he usually does. But he can offer no reassurances because he doesn't know what's wrong either.

He doesn't know why DiNozzo has been sleeping at the office, he hasn't come to him.

He doesn't know why he can't handle the banter with his teammates, he hasn't given him an explanation.

He doesn't know why he is suddenly finding it so hard to keep up the well played one man act that he has perfected over the years.

Some part of him thinks this may be a good thing, that maybe he is finally allowing them a glimpse of a different side to him, that maybe he doesn't want to lie to them anymore.

But at the same time he feels a growing sense of unease about the situation because he knows deep down it must be something painful for the younger man that has caused his new found inability to fake being fine.

He's wished for Tony to drop down his guard since the first month they worked together, but now that it's falling he wants him to put it back up.

He cannot bear the haunted look lingering in his eyes.

He cannot bear the thought that the man he's worked with for 10 years, is so unrecognisable to him.

He cannot bear to see how broken he really is.

...

**A/N. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and taken an interest in this story, there will be some action soon I promise!**

**Kookykey**

**.x.**


	5. Rnunning

**A/N. To begin with I would like to give a special mention to the wonderfully talented sparkiebunny, this amazing person has truly helped me to deal with some difficult personal problems, and I cannot thank you enough for all the care you have shown me.**

**I would also like to thank everyone that left such wonderful reviews, your support and feedback is much appreciated guys, Thanks!**

**...**

_He is running so fast, as fast as his aching legs can carry him, his lungs are burning, he can't see from all the sweat in his eyes and he is so very tired._

_But he runs and he runs and he can't stop and he can't turn around, he has to keep moving, keep going forward, got to get as far away as he can. He can't remember why he is running, he doesn't know what he is running from, all he knows is his repeated mantra playing on a loop in his mind._

_Do. Not. Stop._

_He can't ever stop, he has to keep going, and the why doesn't matter, not anymore._

_But he is so tired and he doesn't think he can go much further, he can hardly breathe, his legs are turning into jelly but all he can feel is the naked fear in his heart._

_Why is he so scared? The street is empty, no one around to be fearful of._

_He stumbles, his body finally gives out and crashes onto the hard concrete, then suddenly it's so dark, but it wasn't a minute ago was it?_

_He can't see, the darkness surrounds him and he cannot see the threat, and he cannot see his way out, is there one?_

_Then he hears it, the booming voice echoes around him, and then he remembers._

_The knowledge of why he was fleeing with such ferocity fills up his senses until he is aware of nothing else. _

_Now he can hear the footsteps, and he can smell the chillingly familiar mixture of scotch and cologne, and oh god, he has to run, but he can't move, he is paralyzed by sheer terror and cursing himself for his weakness._

_Thud. Thud._

_Even closer now, almost at him. He is vaguely aware of begging, pleading, a faint whisper in his ear. Then he feels the tears on his cheeks and realises it was coming from him._

_He can hear heavy breathing, he can feel it brushing against his neck and this is what was he wanted to escape._

_The laugh is loud and horrifying and the hand that strikes him heavy._

_He feels himself fly backwards, he can hear him approaching and..._

_..._

He blinks and feels tears fall down his cheeks as he does.

Is he crying?

Is he on the floor?

_What the hell is going on?_

His breath is ragged, his heart is racing so fast it's painful.

"Here"

The voice startles him so badly he flinches further backwards and registers a dull ache in his back. He is up against his filing cabinet. He blinks a bit more and can feel his awareness coming back to him.

He looks up at the source of the voice and almost flinches again at the sight of Gibbs holding out a bottle of water towards him, he reaches out to take it with alarmingly shaking hands and the reality of this situation begins to register.

The one man he believes can always see straight through him is standing there, watching him, assessing him, calculating eyes seeing his every move, registering his every reaction.

The comprehension finally hits him. He just had a nightmare at the office. He just had a nightmare in front of his boss. _Wonderful._

"Want to tell me what that was about?"

It isn't the usual demanding tone he realises, it is gentle and hesitant and all the more terrifying for that. He wonders how he can possibly talk his way out of this one.

Judging by the look in the other mans eyes anything short of the truth isn't going to cut it.

But he really can't admit to this formidable man, that he had a childish nightmare. He is an adult now, this shouldn't happen. He is a god damn federal agent he shouldn't still be this weak.

"Tony"

He snaps his attention back to the man that would wait an eternity for an answer, oh what the hell, his lies are pretty convincible right?

"Erm, don't know what to say boss, just a bit hot and steamy if you know what I mean?"

He winks and thinks that if he buys that it will be a miracle.

"I know that you're crying, I know I heard you pleading for someone to stop, I know I heard you damn whimpering, so why the hell don't you cut the crap and tell me, what the hell was that?"

His voice gets steadily louder until he practically shouts his last question.

He knows Gibbs could never have missed the way he pushed himself even further into his cabinet at the raised volume.

He stares at his still shaking hands, knowing that once he looks up and sees the concern he just knows will be present in his boss's eyes, that he would be hard pressed to keep his composure.

"Err guys?"

The questioning and confused voice of Timothy McGee has never sounded so sweet to his ears. He leaps to his feet and drags out his most believable smile to flash at his teammate.

Saved by the probie.

"Guess my clumsiness is an ongoing thing McProbster"

"What?"

He looks like a deer caught in headlights, and it is taking all his self control to ignore the 'glare of doom' that he can see out of the corner of his eyes.

"Fell out of my chair McGoo, feel free to laugh"

He doesn't, he stands and stares and Tony wants to beg him to just speak, anything to relieve the undeniable tension he knows they all can feel.

"Guess he really is an idiot Tim"

Ouch, that stings, he knows exactly why he is calling him an idiot, and it has nothing to do with helping him fabricate his lie.

He's calling him an idiot, because that's what he is.

Because he's struggling and he hasn't asked for help, and every morning he has woken up at his desk, sore as hell, to see Gibbs sitting at his.

He knows something is going on with him, at first he wondered why he wasn't being confronted about it, but now he gets it.

He was waiting for him to make the first move.

He was waiting for him to ask for help.

Too bad he has been conditioned to go it alone.

He will bury his problems in the sand before admitting them to anyone.

That's why that dream of his has always been recurring, he is continuously running.

Running away from everyone. He doesn't need Gibbs help.

_Is that why you're sleeping at your desk DiNozzo? Because you can handle it?_

He runs from his past, from himself, from how he feels, from how much it hurts.

"Going down to Ducky's"

The voice is back to being gruff, and he is so very grateful. Go to ducky he thinks. Stay there all day. Give him time to make up something believable enough to placate his boss.

At least he has the chance to come up with something good.

He glances at McGee, sitting at his computer, looking a little lost, obviously having no idea what the hell is going on, and damn, is that concern he can see in his eyes too?

And he's guessing by the time Gibbs returns from autopsy the ME will be worried as well, he highly doubts the two of them will be discussing the weather.

He knows what he has to do now.

...

His hands are shaking as he retrieves the key from his pocket, he tells himself that they never stopped, that it is still residual from that stupid dream he should have gotten over years ago.

He unlocks the drawer, takes a deep breath and grasps the item he has been trying in vain to ignore for the past week.

He hears the elevator and sees Ziva strolling in and that settles it, he can't open it here, not when he doesn't know what it says, not when he is isn't so sure he can control his reaction to its contents.

He strides past her, only stopping when he hears,

"Something I said?"

She raises her eyebrows at him.

"Just need to hit the head"

And that is all he offers, if he stops now, he will stop for good. He will chicken out.

He has to see this through, he has to know whether all his anxiety is warranted or not.

This letter has been haunting him for seven fucking days and it's time to find out what is in it, he ignores the fear, he can stare down the barrel of a gun, he can a fucking letter, right?

...

"Something's going on with DiNozzo"

He's drove himself mad trying to figure it out, if anyone can help, Ducky can.

"Anthony? Is he alright?"

The immediate concern reassures him that he is making the right call in confiding in the doctor.

"Nope, he's slept here for a week a Duck, this morning he had a nightmare so bad he threw himself of his chair"

"Oh my, I don't suppose you have any idea as to why he would be acting this way?"

He just looks at him.

"I didn't think so"

"It's been 10 years Duck, and he still thinks he can't come to me, I know the second B's for bastard, but after everything we've faced, he still won't just talk to me"

He knows by the look in the doctor's eyes that he can hear his anguish over this, he never thought that he had been so bad, that Tony still felt he couldn't come to him.

"I highly doubt it is you my friend, the reason he won't confide that is, as much as appearances deceive it, he is fiercely private, very protective of himself, you know as well I as do that that poor boy's childhood leaves a lot to be desired, people don't realise how far reaching certain repercussions can be. He finds it all too easy to be treated harshly, show him kindness, and well, he runs for the hills doesn't he."

This is why he came to Ducky, he _knows_, he can understand DiNozzo in ways no one else can, rather than feel annoyance or frustration at the younger mans character traits, he gives them reason.

"So that's what this is? He won't ask for help because his father was a bastard?"

His statement sounds cold even to his ears, it sounds disbelieving, and as though he thinks the whole idea is stupid,

"Not quite Jethro, I simply believe he was told, most likely repeatedly that asking for help was perceived as weakness, and if I know Tony, he would have done anything to portray the opposite, much like he does with you"

Is he really comparing him to that man?

"What the hell is that supposed to mean"

He snaps, but he doesn't care, Ducky is well used to his moods by now.

He proves him right when he merely rolls his eyes at his outburst.

"He strives to make you proud, does everything he can to not disappoint you"

"He's never disappointed me Duck"

How could he? Sure he's made mistakes but he has always rectified them, and done so with so much integrity he felt nothing but pride during those moments, his strength was always something to be admired, turning out as well as he has cannot have been easy, not when so many things almost destroyed him.

"Yes well I know that don't I, thing is Jethro, have you ever told Tony?"

Has he?

He told him he was proud of him once.

Right, as if once is good enough, maybe if he told him more often, gave more to him, he would have given more back.

Then maybe they wouldn't have ended up here.

With him brooding to Ducky, and Tony most likely licking his wounds somewhere alone.

Hell, he noticed the need for attention, the need for care but he did not do his agent justice, and now he is suffering alone, like he always has.

Like he probably thinks he always will, but not this time.

He was going to be there for that man whether he wanted it or not.

Tony has spent the majority of his life alone, and he wants to teach him that it doesn't have to be that way.

Not anymore.

...

**A/N (sorry another one) i want to apologize if the quality of this chapter is somewhat poor, I have had a lot to deal with this week, but I hope you have all still enjoyed it.**

**Kookykey**

**.x.**


	6. 1 day earlier

_1 day earlier_

He enters the men's room to be greeted by the sight of a shattered mirror and the sound of retching. He opens one of the stall doors and finds his senior agent kneeling in front of the toilet seemingly throwing up every meal he's recently consumed. He is clutching something tightly in a bloody fist, an alarmingly large shard of glass protruding out of it.

_Well that explains the mirror._

What it doesn't explain is what has brought out such an intense reaction from the usually composed man. This overly emotional display was unusual for Tony, especially in a place where it could be so easily witnessed.

His concern just went up a notch.

He wanted to talk to him yesterday, but he decided to put it off. His feelings of frustration and sadness at DiNozzo's inability to let him in, were bubbling to close to the surface and he knew they wouldn't be well received. He had to approach this with caution, had to be calm and composed and completely in control of himself. One wrong step and the other man would flee as fast as he could. It would be a delicate discussion, Tony could be stubborn as hell and if he was being honest, he was scared of what might be revealed.

Now watching the man cough pitifully and take a shuddering breath, he wanted to kick himself for letting it get to this point, for leaving it for too long. For allowing whatever was hurting Tony to continue destroying him from the inside out.

For leaving him _alone._

The one thing he wanted to teach his friend he didn't have to be.

Tony, apparently still unaware he had an audience began to slowly turn himself until he was resting against the wall, eyes closed, head bent forward, his whole body shaking, he looked broken.

Judging by the tear tracks on his pale face, he felt it too.

His heart clenched painfully at the thought of his boy in so much pain.

"Hey"

His voice was quiet and soft, but that didn't stop Tony from reacting strongly. His eyes flew open and he immediately reached for his gun, flinging himself to his feet. His breathing was rapid as he pointed his gun in his face.

He saw the minute comprehension lit up in his agents eyes.

"Gibbs"

"Easy Tony, put the gun down"

He complied by simply allowing it to clatter to floor, his exhausted body following it, as he slumped back against the wall.

He had never seen him like this before, so vulnerable, so silently shattered. It was unnerving, and he didn't know what to do, he knew what he wanted to do of course. He wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms and absorb all his pain from him, but that wasn't really an option.

He settles for sitting beside him and wondering what the hell to say.

Wary green eyes track his movements, and he can tell Tony is weighing things up, always thinking, always calculating, he apparently reaches some sort of conclusion because he suddenly drops his head onto his shoulder. He manages to contain his shock at the gesture, he manages to conceal his surprise at the way he was seeking out comfort. Something he has never done before.

He realises Tony has yet to speak, except his strangled sounding 'Gibbs' it dawns on him that he hadn't made jokes or lied, he wasn't putting up his barriers or misdirecting the situation. He wasn't trying to pretend that he's fine.

That makes him feel disgusted at himself for waiting to approach him. He allowed his own feelings, his own cowardice to get in the way of what needed to be done. For Tony to not even fight this, means he must be desperate.

He wraps his arm around his agent's shoulders, and has to hold back his urge to let his tears mix with Tony's as the younger man buries himself even further into to his body. This is what he was desperate for, comfort, any comfort, desperate for someone to just be there. No words needed,

He tightens his grip and wills himself to remain strong, he has to be.

Tony's strength has finally given out and he is falling apart. After so many years of being seemingly indestructible, the effort of maintaining the front has finally proven too much, and now he was free falling, spiralling towards the bottom, fast.

It was time to at last find out what was wrong, to find out just what it is that has Tony flying right of the edge.

He can only hope he cdan catch him and minimize the crash.

It was time to put voice to the question he should have asked days ago.

"What's wrong son?"

It didn't go down very well.

Tony immediately sat up and scrambled away from him, he stared at his agent and he couldn't help but flinch at the look of sheer despair on his face.

He made a painful choking sound at the back of his throat before returning his attention to the basin, resuming his earlier activity of throwing up.

He rests his hand and DiNozzo's back, another mistake judging by the way he flinches away at the contact. He feels utterly hopeless now.

He finally stops retching and he can see how close to passing out he's becoming.

They weren't going to solve anything on a bathroom floor, and that hand really did need looking at. He hauls the younger man to his feet, keeping a firm grip on him as he sways and he notes that his grip on whatever he is holding hasn't lessened, even when aiming a gun at him, despite how much it must hurt.

He supports the majority of his weight and begins to slowly lead him away from the scene of complete desolation.

"Let's get you to Ducky"

That sentence would usually set off a series of assurances about how very fine he was. No medical attention needed.

This time there was nothing, not one word of protest as he dragged his unresponsive agent into the elevator.

The silence was scaring him.

...

He doesn't remember getting to autopsy and that scares him. If there is one thing he truly despises it's not being completely aware of himself, completely in control of his actions. That's the reason he doesn't really drink. Not the only reason of course, but it's the one that makes him feel less pathetic. Oh of course he's come into work with a few 'hangovers' but that's just to keep up appearances, he can probably count on one hand the amount of times in his adult life that he has actually been drunk. It's easy enough to fake.

Considering the fact that he is in autopsy, meaning at work, he doubts alcohol is the cause of his hazy memory.

Then it hits him, dragging him under like a flood. The echoes of frantic terror, anger and the sound of glass smashing, clinking against a porcelain sink. The semi awareness of the presence of his boss, he feels his cheeks flush red as he dips his head down in an effort to hide his embarrassment.

"Anthony, I need you to open your hand, if you hand me that paper I will be sure to keep it safe"

He looks up to see Ducky staring at him with gentle eyes, too compassionate to hide the worry.

He justs transfer the reason for this FUBAR situation to his other hand and blocks out the doctors sad sigh as he sets to work on his injury that he is too numb to feel.

Gibbs is there, silent, watching him intently, studying his bloodshot eyes and trembling form.

How could let himself appear so weak in front of this man?

He just wants to escape, to leave and hide himself away, he thought he was strong but he really can't deal with this.

He feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny and wishes Ducky will be quick in patching him up.

Like that matters.

Like he's getting out of this one.

...

"_I'm telling you Gibbs I'm fine"_

"_And I'm telling you DiNozzo, it's the ER or Ducky"_

"_I'm fine!"_

_He gives that look again, the glare that demands agreement whether you want to give it or not._

_Let's face facts here, he is getting checked out, he has no choice about that, but he does get to choose the lesser of two evils._

"_Ducky"_

_He uses his most sullen tone, but his boss pays no attention as he directs the elevator to autopsy._

_The doors open and for a moment he just stares at the shiny tables. The tables where the bodies go, he suppresses a shudder._

_But Gibbs is out already and he is losing patience fast, he may have only known the man a few months, but he can tell he's getting ready to blow._

"_Move it!"_

_Well that's a tone no sane person would ignore. Could he plead insanity?_

"_On it boss"_

"_Ah what can I do for you two gentleman?"_

"_DiNozzo had a little run in with a suspect, need you to look him over"_

_He opens his mouth to once again announce that he is fine, but that look is back so he shuts it again._

"_Oh dear, well hop up dear boy"_

_He pats one of the shiny tables as he says it. Oh god._

_But up he gets, with a bit of difficultly he has to admit. Just how hard did that bastard hit him?_

"_Where does it hurt Anthony?"_

"_His ribs duck"_

"_Well I'm getting to be a good ventriloquist, I bet you didn't see my lips move, did ya Ducky?_

_Ducky though just ignores his attempt at humour and tells him to take his shirt off._

_He suddenly feels distinctly uncomfortable, not about being treated by a ME, and not about being shirtless in front of him, but because Gibbs is making no move to leave._

"_You have somewhere to be Boss?"_

"_Nope"_

_Right, of course he doesn't._

_He undoes his buttons and tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach._

_His secret is not going to be a secret anymore._

_It's harder than it should be to slip his arms out of the sleeves and after watching him struggle for a minute, Gibbs stomps over and yanks it off him._

_He doesn't need to be looking at him to know the exact moment he sees the scars, he can sense the complete stillness that the older man has gone into. He feels a light touch trace what he knows to be the most distinct red line marring his back. He doesn't even try to think of a story, they are too old to be from anything other than childhood, that doesn't mean he can't play it downplay it though._

"_Boss its noth..."_

"_Don't you tell me it's nothing"_

_He comes to stand in front of him and he sees the one thing he never wanted to see in Gibbs eyes. Pity._

_He is not the victim anymore, he doesn't need people feeling sorry for him._

"_There're just scars"_

_The look on his face speaks volumes and he prepares himself for an explosion of the Leroy Jethro Gibbs variety._

"_Jethro, young Anthony still needs to be treated, that bruising looks quite nasty I'm afraid, perhaps some coffee would be in order?"_

_He just stares in amazement as Gibbs spins on his heel and stalks out._

_He tries to think of something to say to ease the atmosphere, but comes up empty. Even Ducky doesn't seem to have a story to share, not this time._

_Ducky's just about done taping up his 3 broken ribs, when he decides it's time to cut the silence._

"_You can trust him you know Anthony"_

"_I do, with my life"_

_He isn't lying, he is very aware of the fact that Gibbs has his six._

"_In the field perhaps that is true, but I was talking of a more personal nature. You may trust him to 'have your six' as you say, but you do not trust him in regards to yourself"_

_He must sense his confusion because he continues._

"_There is a difference between entrusting your life to someone in the field and simply trusting them. I know it must be difficult for you after your own experiences, but if you never believe that people care for you, you will end up leading a rather lonely life I'm afraid, Gibbs may be many things but he is not a callous man, he would never turn you away my dear boy. Try and remember that"_

"_I...I...Uh.."_

_He is suddenly extremely inarticulate._

"_Pop your shirt back on Tony"_

_He does as he is told._

'_He would never turn you away'_

_No he won't because he wasn't going to give him an opportunity to. He isn't going to drag up his demons just because his boss saw some silly old scars._

_He'll take a breath, paint on his smile and pretend this never happened._

_Hopefully Gibbs will follow his lead and just let this one go._

_..._

Gibbs never did question him that day, or the next, not that he needed to, they aren't really many explanations for having whip marks on your back.

But Gibbs never asked, so Tony never told and they moved on from the incident without a backwards glance. That's not to say he didn't notice the way he neglected to head slap him for a week afterwards. So he pulled out all stops became his most annoying self, he goaded and he pushed his limits, desperate to gain back normalcy. He couldn't bear being treated any differently just because of his fractured past.

"All done dear boy"

"Actually Duck, it's just about to get started"

He can see the determined gleam aimed in his direction and he knows that this time, he's going to have to talk.

But he just can't, he can't get the words past his lips, so he wordlessly hands out his letter.

_Dear Anthony,_

_I believe it is time for us to catch up, it is time to go back to having a relationship._

_How is Washington?_

_I'll be sure to drop in on you soon._

_Regards,_

_Your father._

To anyone else it would be nothing, a simple note from a father saying they miss their only son, to him it is so much more sinister. To anyone else it would be a good thing, to him it brings an over whelming sense of fear and dread.

"This why you been sleeping here?"

Is it? He only read it hours earlier, was he really so scared of a letter he didn't even open?

"Yes boss"

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I only opened it last night"

"But you knew what it was, you should have come to me Tony"

He knows that, at least he knows that _now. _If he could have just gotten over his pride, maybe he could've handled this better.

"Go home"

He can't be serious.

"No boss"

"Pack a bag"

"What?"

"Go pack a back, you can stay with me until we figure this out, you're not alone in this Tony"

Then why does he feel it?

Will Gibbs really tend to an unstable agent?

Will he really accept all the baggage he brings?

Will he really take care of him?

"Tony, go get some clothes, movies, whatever you need, I've got your six"

He really has not options left, and to be honest he wants so badly for someone to look after him, to tell him it's going to be okay, he's tired of fighting his battles alone.

"Okay"

He must sense his lingering hesitation, his reluctance to actually stand up and go.

"You want me to come with you?"

Too soft, too gentle, he is not a child and he is not fragile. He does not need his boss to hold his hand.

"No that's okay, I can manage."

God that voice is way to shaky to be his, he has to get himself in check. He cuts of his bosses impending protest with a terse,

"Seriously, I'll be fine."

He doesn't wait for a response before he heads towards the elevator.

He ignores his fear, he has no use for it.

Go home, pack a back, easy right?

...

**A/N. Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and continued support, I had so many nice messages wishing me well and I appreciate every single one! You guys are all fantastic, thank you.**


	7. Distraction

_He shouldn't have let him go alone._

That one thought has him held firmly in its grasp and it's all he can think. It's bouncing around in his brain, demanding his full attention.

_He shouldn't have let him go alone._

He saw the fear in Tony's eyes as he left autopsy, he saw the hesitancy in his steps. He saw the subtle tremors in his hands and the mask he used to try and hide it all. But the mask has crumbled, leaving behind a wreck of a man, the strong, confident investigator dithered away and left in his place, a terrified, lonely little boy who didn't know how to ask for help.

He should have given it anyway.

But instead, Tony went off alone the way he always has, the way he's always _had to, _and he did nothing but stand silently and watch him leave.

Is it any wonder Tony doesn't put his trust in people? Is it any wonder that he never relies on anyone? Nine times out of ten, when it's crunch time the people you desperately need aren't around, or if they are, they're too busy playing the bastard. Then your left fumbling, scrambling, grasping at anything secure to help you keep your footing, but you were so sure that someone would help, that you would have a hand to hold, you end becoming so lost and disorientated without that reassurance that you just crash, you collapse in a heap of hopelessness and wait for the people that let you down to come and pick the pieces up.

Not Tony.

Tony doesn't wait to be saved, he saves himself.

Tony doesn't wait for someone to hold his hand, he uses it to strike back.

Tony doesn't wait for anyone to come along and pick him up again, he pushes himself up. He gathers his own scattered pieces and rebuilds them on his own.

He doesn't feel lost because he's never been found, he never had reassurance in the first place so he can't lose it. He doesn't wait for, or expect anything, _anyone_ to come along and help him. So he doesn't lose precious time waiting for the relief that never arrives.

He doesn't depend on anyone to keep him going.

He fights alone and he fights hard, and he almost always wins. He comes out on top as the best that he can be.

How could he not? How could he fail with no one there to trip him up? With no expectations on his shoulders but the ones he put there himself.

It has, with no question, made him a stronger man, but he's guessing it's made him a lonelier one too.

You can only push people away for so long before you forget how to let them in all together.

Tony has forgotten. Tony shut himself off years ago and ripped the damn button out

He doesn't_ need_ him to be attached at the damn hip, he doesn't _need_ to be coddled by his boss and he certainly wouldn't appreciate it.

But what if _wanted_ his presence, what if he just wanted to feel as though someone cares for once in his life.

He said that he wasn't in this alone, he figures DiNozzo feels as though he is.

He's trying to justify himself, but his argument, his defence is dwindling away, disappearing because it has no foundations to keep it there.

He didn't seem so sturdy slumped on the bathroom floor.

He didn't seem able to save himself with his head resting on his shoulder.

He didn't seem so strong when he sat on the table and stared at nothing with vacant, empty eyes.

He didn't seem to be winning when he was so caught up in his despair that the world melted away. Not even a wince when Ducky pulled out the glass, no flinch as he put stitches into his hand. He was with them but he wasn't _there._ He was somewhere else entirely and he did the unthinkable.

He left him there.

_He shouldn't have let him go alone._

...

He barely pays attention as he drives to his apartment. His _home_. The place he has been avoiding for a week now.

His constant distraction unnerves him, it means he's slipping, he's losing control of his once flawless barriers. He's letting people see the mess that has always lurked underneath his shiny persona. And that is inexcusable.

He needs now, more than ever, his ability to keep his shields up, Gibbs saw him break down once, he can't let there be a repeat performance.

But the shields that once kept him so protected are now nothing more than pieces of rubble on the ground around him, and he does not have the tools to rebuild them. But he can't leave them there either. He can't let his long standing vulnerability shine through.

He can't let them see the broken parts he's covered up for so long.

He can't let them see how truly fucked up he actually is.

He won't allow them to see the worthless boy he thought he'd killed off years ago, the one that is now fighting for his resurrection.

_Fight all you want Anthony, because Tony fights dirty. He won't let you win._

He can't afford to.

He needs to pull some strength from somewhere, but it seems that everywhere he looks, it's all gone.

'You're not alone in this Tony'

But he is. He always is. He probably always will be.

And he's not stupid, he knows that it's mostly his own doing, he is the master at keeping people at arm's length, hell several arms length, and he likes it that way.

Most of the time.

The rest of the time he feels as though the weight of the loneliness is going to crush him. If it hasn't already. Problem is he doesn't know how to be any other way.

A leopard can't change its spots. And a DiNozzo can't change its defence mechanisms.

But he let Gibbs in didn't he?

Okay it may not have been by choice, he didn't exactly invite him into the men's room to watch him freak out. But he saw Tony at his weakest point and what happened?

He said some great sounding words and not much else. Because he isn't _here_, he tries to ignore how much that hurts.

He was the one that said he would be fine.

He was the one that lied.

He'd always imagined that Gibbs was able to see straight through him, he obviously didn't give his acting skills enough credit. No one sees through him, no one sees _him._

That should be a relief, a mission accomplished, pat on the back realisation. But it just makes him feel empty.

Most things do.

He pulls into the parking lot of his building, stops the car and lets his head fall onto the wheel. He wills himself to just _stop thinking._ He wills himself to ignore the agonising, aching,_ empty_ feeling burning away in his chest.

Most of all he tries to ignore the sting of betrayal he feels towards Gibbs, he was right not to come with him.

It was a good reminder of the fact that nobody is dependable, it reminded him of the very thing he cannot believe he forgot.

Nobody cares about Tony.

Not the real one anyway.

...

He enters the apartment, gun drawn and nothing can describe the relief he feels at finding it unoccupied.

He despises the fear this entire situation has instilled in him. No one should have to enter their home, weapon at the ready. It isn't normal.

He heads straight to his bedroom, the quicker he is out of here the better.

He tosses his gun on the bed and starts tossing random clothes into a bag, he doesn't care what he ends up with, he needs to get the hell out of here.

There's a knock on the door and as he opens it he curses many things.

He once again curses his distraction, because he left his gun on the bed.

He curses the fact that he was assuming,_ hoping_ Gibbs had come to check on him.

Then he curses his distraction again, because if he was thinking clearly he would have known that Gibbs wouldn't have knocked. The man has a key.

Then he curses his very ridiculous, very childish urge, for someone to appear and give him a hug, for someone to wrap him up in their arms and tell him that it will all be okay.

Because right now he can't tell if it will be.

Because right now he is standing face to face with the one person he never wanted to see again.

...

McGee tries his best to keep the confusion off his face as he leaves the bullpen only minutes after entering it.

He was expecting to tell Gibbs about the information he and Abby discovered, instead he has been ordered to Tony's apartment. When he dared to ask why all he got was a terse 'just go McGee'. So he did.

He told him the address and it dawned on him that in all the years of working with Tony, he has never been to his home.

He wonders why that is.

He follows his GPS and it isn't long until he is walking along the corridor, towards Tony's apartment.

He is just about to knock when he hears banging from within. He listens carefully for a moment and quickly concludes that there is a fight, some sort of struggle going on inside.

He does the only thing he can think off.

He calls Gibbs.

"There a problem Mcgee?"

"Erm... I'm at Tony's"

"Well yeah, I know that McGee, I didn't ask where you were, I asked. Is there a problem"

"I think Tony's in trouble, I can hear noises, sounds like a struggle and..."

He stops and listens again for a moment.

"Something just smashed boss"

"I'm on my way"

He's about to ask what he should do when he realises his boss has already hung up.

He stands shock still when he hears a cry of pain, which was unmistakably Tony's.

He knows all about protocol, he knows he should wait for backup, wait for Gibbs.

But what if he died while he was stood doing nothing?

What if he had to go to Tony's funeral, and have people ask, where were you when DiNozzo was killed?

What could he say? That he was stood next to the door, listening as his friend was murdered.

Because even with all the jokes, pranks and MCnicknames, in his own unique way, Tony was a friend.

If the roles were reserved Tony wouldn't think twice, he wouldn't give a damn about protocol.

Tony wouldn't hesitate.

So neither would he.

...

**A/N. As always I would like to thank everyone who gave such wonderful reviews, and for anyone just taking the time to read.**

**I appreciate all of you!**

**Thanks.**

**Kookykey**

**.x.**


	8. Options

He flies round the bend and has to yank the wheel in the opposite direction to prevent himself from spinning out of control. He has never driven this fast in his life.

His agents may comment on his driving regularly, but right now his usual style could be considered safe.

He is actually scaring himself.

After he narrowly avoids slamming into a red pickup he vaguely considers the fact that he should slow down. This kind of driving is meant for a rally track, not the domesticated streets of D.C.

But he dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. Slowing down is not an option.

Not getting there in time is not an option.

_He has to get to Tony._

That is his only option.

He can't imagine how he must feel right now, to be confronted with the person he fears above all others.

That makes him sick, sons are not meant to fear their fathers. Not the way Tony does.

Fear of disappointing them, fear of a lecture or being grounded, there fair game. Fear of a beating, fear of bones breakings are things that shouldn't exist within children.

Tony had to fear the latter, and now the man that broke him so badly is most likely trying to do so again, and he isn't there. He isn't there to protect him, he isn't there supporting him.

He isn't there to love him the way his father never did.

_He isn't there._

His guilt is weighing heavily on him, forcing his foot even harder down on the gas pedal.

If he was too late, if that man laid one hand him... he shakes his head and rids himself of the thought.

Tony not being okay isn't an option either.

He finally sees his building and leaves his car sitting haphazardly out front.

Screw parking, there is no time for that.

He races up the stairs, and feels his heart hammering more and more painfully the closer to his door that he gets.

He turns into the corridor, draws his weapon and sends up a prayer.

He prays that there will be something left for him to salvage.

He realises McGee isn't standing by the door where he imagined him to be, he feels his gut churn at the absence of his junior agent.

He approaches slowly. Cautiously, then he hears a gunshot and all thought leaves him.

He races to the door, his own safety unimportant.

The door is slightly ajar when he reaches it, he pushes it open the rest of the way and takes in the scene before him.

Then he just stops.

Nothing could have prepared him for this. This scenario never entered his head because he was so sure he would make it in time.

He didn't.

He was too late.

_Oh god Tony._

_..._

_Breathe. Just breathe._

That is all he commands himself.

Breathe through the panic.

Breathe through the fear.

Breathe through the dizziness threatening to send him to his knees.

_Just breathe DiNozzo._

He ignores the sick feeling that rises up in him at the name. Right now he would give anything to not be associated with the man standing before him.

The man he so stupidly opened his door to, the man standing there staring at him with icy hatred in his eyes. He never could forget those eyes. They haunted his dreams, there were lurking in his mirror, they followed him around in every moment, tainting everything he touched.

He could feel the panic pulling him under and he had to fight to keep a grip on his erratic emotions. He couldn't appear weak, it didn't matter that he felt like a little kid about to piss his pants, as long as he didn't show it.

So he pulls himself up to his full height and curls his hands into fists to hide their shaking.

"What the hell do you want?"

Was that his voice?

It was hard as steel, cold of ice.

He didn't want to have that voice inside him, he knew where he had learned it. Or more accurately _who_ he had learned it from.

"Is that any way to speak to your father?"

That voice, so achingly familiar, despite the many years since he's heard it sends a shiver down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he wonders if he can get himself through this without breaking down.

"You don't deserve the title"

The force of the unexpected blow sends him staggering back several steps and several decades and he has to fight to keep himself firmly in the present.

"How dare you be so disrespectful, have you forgotten the appropriate manner in which to address me?"

He spits blood on the floor before he answers.

"Go to hell"

He doesn't flinch at fury in the older man's eyes, or when he takes a step towards him. He has done this dance before, except this time he isn't a little kid, and he isn't going to stand there and take it. This time he is going to fight back.

He ducks as the first punch comes his way and then shoves him away.

"Why now? Why come here now?"

He needs to know, he needs to have some understanding of the situation.

"I missed you"

He knows sarcasm when he hears it.

"Missed your punching bag more like"

The laugh he gets in response is cruel and bitter and something he hopes to never have to hear again.

"Well there is that"

He doesn't make another attempt to hit him but simply starts to walk around the living area, he sees him sweep his gaze over the furniture, and linger on his expensive television.

"What do you want?"

There is no bite in his voice now, just exhaustion.

"Money"

What?

He's come to ask _him_ for money?

"A business deal went bad, I need a little help to get back on my feet"

"And you came to me? You really think I'm going to help you? After everything you did"

"Still crying about that I see, I thought you would have realised by now it was to help you Anthony"

He can't believe what he is hearing, all that bastard did was hurt him, he never helped him.

What kind of screwed mentality allowed someone to see breaking your 6 year old sons arm as helping?

"You were always such a sensitive child, much too like your mother, I had to toughen you up, turn you into a man, and I tried my hardest but I suppose you were just too much of a lost cause. You're still just as weak and worthless as you were when I started"

It takes all the strength he has left to not visibly react to those words and the calm manner in which they are delivered. He really believes what he is saying. He has always known what his father thinks of him, he can't afford to dwell on it now.

"I think you should leave"

This time he is proud of his tone, proud of how steady his voice is.

"I will, when I get what I came for"

"If you really think I am going to help you, you are just plain stupid. So just leave."

His self preservation apparently has.

Without warning his father picks up a glass and hurls it straight at him, it strikes him on the temple with startling accuracy and the blow sends him to his knees.

He's had a lot of practice at that particular trick.

Before he has a chance to recover he is standing over him and delivers a vicious blow to his ribs, then a smack to face sends him on to his back and he finds himself gasping for air.

As he's lying there something in him snaps, something changes. He has been afraid of this man for years, for his entire life, and he doesn't want to let him rule him anymore.

He is a grown man, he is a federal agent.

He can protect himself, and he will.

That makes him suddenly think of his gun lying on his bed and the various others stashed around the place and hopes to god he won't have to use one of them.

He stands up and ignores the way the room spins in and out of focus.

His father approaches again but this time he's ready and slams his fist into his face, relishing in how good it feels to get one back. He falls but he grabs him back up by his arm and throws into the nearest wall. The movement makes the pain in his ribs spike but he doesn't stop.

He strides to where his father is clutching the wall, intent on handcuffing him. He strikes him off guard when he suddenly turns around and shoves him with strength someone his age shouldn't still possess.

He flies backwards and can't hold in his sharp cry of pain as he goes straight through his glass coffee table. For a moment he can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel the burning in his back where the glass shards sliced right through his skin.

"You see what happens _son_, when you try to play the tough guy. You're pathetic, you're nothing, you can kid yourself all you want but you will always be worthless"

Tears sting his eyes and he tells himself it's from the pain, nothing more.

He sees a glint of something flash in the corner of his eye, he raises his head to see his father brandishing a small pocket knife and he reads the intent in his eyes.

The knife may be small, but it's big enough to kill him.

...

He races into the apartment, gun drawn, and nerves all over the place.

He spots Tony immediately, lying on the ground, surrounded by what he guesses used to be his coffee table.

He hears the final words spoken by the man standing above him, and wonders where such cruelty can come from. He is so stunned by them he fails to pick up on the knife hanging loosely in the mans hand.

"Dad stop"

He hears Tony's pained whisper as loud as someone screaming in his ear.

His father? How could a father say things like that to their child?

He knew they didn't have a great relationship, but he never imagined it was this bad. That he could hurt him so purposely was so heartbreaking, so wrong and then it dawned on him that this is how he must have grown up.

While he was being read stories and tucked into bed, Tony was probably left hurt and alone.

How could he have never known?

Would he have ever known? If he weren't confronted with the reality at this very moment. Could he have ever imagined the pain the man he looks up to was subjected too?

He's doesn't think he would, Tony would have just carried on pretending that he is all surface, and continued burying the pain with jokes and movie quotes.

His shock at all the realisations swimming in his mind, creates enough of an opportunity for Tony's father to knock him off his guard, an arm wraps itself around his neck and his gun is ripped out of his grip.

How could he have been so stupid?

His training went out the window and his shock took over.

He has the horrible feeling that he has just made everything worse.

...

How is this happening?

How did McGee get dragged into all this?

Most importantly, how is he going to get him out of it?

He painfully drags himself to his knees, trying to recall where his stashed weapons are, and if he can reach them.

He sees his probies struggle for air and knows he has to act quickly.

He flings himself towards the television stand and grabs the gun he keeps taped the bottom self.

He aims it at his father's head, and feels sick.

O god, this is all so wrong, this can't be happening.

How the hell can this be happening?

"Let him go"

He tries to sound forceful, but he mostly sounds scared.

He laughs that awful laugh again, and this time he doesn't think he will ever be able to stop hearing it.

"You going to shoot me Junior?"

The tone is mocking and arrogant, and the sick feeling is replaced by anger.

"Let him _go"_

Much better. Much more federal agent like.

"I'd rather make you watch"

Then he smiles the most malicious smile that he has ever seen, and he knows the sight will be forever seared into his memory.

"_LET HIM GO"_

He is desperate now, pleading, begging, anything to not have to do this.

He knows it isn't going to work, his attempts are futile, there is only one way this can end.

"No"

His father takes the safety of the gun and Tim shudders at the sound.

He can't believe he is actually going to do this, but he has no other choice.

He pulls the trigger before the other man gets the chance to. He watches him drop with a neat hole between his eyes and he drops to his own knees and throws up.

What has he just done?

...

It doesn't take him long to fit the pieces of events together.

He takes in McGee's form, bent at the middle, a hand clutching his throat, gasping for air.

He takes in DiNozzo senior lying near him with open unseeing eyes.

And he takes in Tony, _oh god Tony,_ kneeling on the floor surrounded by blood, glass and vomit. Fierce tremors racking his frame, a gun still held tightly in his fingers.

He knows exactly what happened here and his heart breaks in two for his agent, his _friend_.

He drops down next to him and gently takes the gun away. He doesn't acknowledge his presence. He is lost, trapped in the horror of the act he was forced to commit.

"Let's get you out of here Tony"

He pulls the shaking man to his feet and then stops short as McGee is suddenly beside him.

"I got him Boss"

His voice is hoarse and scratchy but the conviction in it is strong, so he lets Tim lead him out, knowing that what happened will be something they will both have to overcome.

He makes the necessary calls on the way out of the building, watching with pride at the gentle way McGee handles Tony.

Together they ease him down to sit on the sidewalk while they wait for people to start arriving.

It all happens in a whirlwind, but soon Ducky is on his way to NCIS with the body and the medics are waiting to see to DiNozzo.

He hasn't moved from the spot they placed him in earlier, hasn't spoken, it seems like the only things he is still capable of doing is breathing. He places a gentle hand on his shoulder and tries not flinch at the anguish he sees when he raises his eyes to meet his.

"I won't ask if you're okay"

He already knows the answer, it will be a long time before this man is okay again. If he ever can be.

"You did the right thing Tony"

It won't be a comfort he knows that. But he needs to make sure that Tony understands, that he knows there was no other way.

"I know Boss, that's not really the question though is it?"

Unfortunately, no it isn't. Right thing to do or not. Tony just took his own Fathers life.

It doesn't matter that he was a bastard and destroyed his childhood, it doesn't matter how many black eyes or split lips he gave him.

It doesn't matter that it was to save McGee, to save a friend. It doesn't matter that it was to save his own life as well.

All that matters now is what happens next.

"Nope, question is, can you live with yourself?"

He hopes like hell that he can, but he knows his agent well, this could very well be the end of him.

"I guess we'll find out"

Yeah he guesses they will.

He sinks back into his unresponsive state as the medics look him over.

"We should take him in sir, these gashes on his back may need stitches and he most likely has a concussion"

Gibbs just nods in agreement, wishing for Tony to start protesting, to bring some normalcy to this inexplicable situation.

But he is quiet.

They load him into the ambulance and Tim climbs in with him, he can see how unwillingly he is to let him out of his sight, so he agrees to follow them in the car.

He needs some time to think anyway.

He's trying not to blame himself, Tony shouldn't have to deal with his guilt on top of his own, or McGee's if he read that look in his eyes right. This was all so messed up and he had no idea how to fix it.

He slams his hand onto the wheel to try and rid himself of the hopelessness. But is it all he can feel.

He can't do anything now.

He can be there if Tony lets him, but he can't heal him, he can't order the hurt away.

He can be his friend, but what if that's not enough to pull him back.

He thinks of the lifeless gaze in his agents eyes.

He thinks of the dull emptiness that was so evident in his voice.

He wonders if he will ever get his Tony back

...

**A/N sorry for the wait guys! Bit longer than usual to make it up for it!**

**Thanks to all my fantastic reviewers, your comments truly do mean the world to me. And a thank you to everyone taking the time to read.**

**Love you all**

**Kookykey**

**.x.**


	9. Empty chair

He stares up at the blank ceiling and wills the pain medication to do its job and knock him out.

He doesn't know if there was peace to be found in sleep, he just knew it certainly wasn't coming while his mind was still replaying what had happened in sickening detail.

He was trapped in the moment, he could still hear the gunshot that shattered everything. He could still see the body drop to the floor, void of life.

Because he took it.

He is glad he is alone, glad he has no audience to watch him come apart at the seams. He has been broken before, but not like this. There is no coming back from this one.

The pieces of him are too small and too scattered for there to be any hope of fixing, there is no healing to be found, no force strong enough to put him back together and keep him that way.

Tony DiNozzo has gone, he left the very same moment the bullet left the gun and he didn't leave directions.

He has no idea who he is anymore, all he knows is that it is someone he doesn't want to be.

He closes his eyes and tries to drive his thoughts away, but all he sees is that horrifying moment that won't let him out of its clutches.

He snaps his eyes open and chokes back a sob that rises up so suddenly in his throat, but his attempt is useless and the tears fall at an alarming rate down his face.

He lets it go then, to hell with pride, to hell with acting strong, no one was here anyway. That thought makes him cry harder. He doesn't want to be alone now.

Why wasn't Gibbs here?

Or even McGee?

Or Ziva, Abby, Ducky, anyone?

Why was he alone? Why weren't they here?

_Because you don't deserve them._

And he knows that that's the truth, how can he expect someone to comfort him? How can he expect them to want to be near him? What right does he have to want to be cared for after what he has done?

A sound of sheer agony rips from his throat and he sobs even harder, his ribs burn from the effort but he cannot stop. It feels like a hole has been torn out of him, and it hurts.

Oh god it hurts so much and there is no end in sight.

Just an endless road of agony and grief, with no one walking it but him.

He suddenly wonders what loss he is actually grieving for.

The loss of his Father?

Or the loss of himself?

...

He blinks blearily, his eyes feel heavy but he forces them to open, anything to escape the images that are constantly playing behind them. He was right there was no peace in sleep.

He's willing to bet that there is no peace in anything anymore.

His gaze settles on the chair sitting next to his bed. The empty chair.

He is still alone.

He sighs and the previously unregistered pain in his ribs spikes fiercely.

_Fuck that hurt._

And now that he's aware of it, its intensity climbs. It burns with every inhale, but it is a welcome pain. It gives him something else to focus on. Something other than the sense of loneliness washing over him.

Grateful for this new distraction he begins to take stock of the rest of his body.

His head his throbbing mercilessly, the skin on the right side of his face feels tight and swollen.

He shifts slightly and instantly regrets the movement. His entire back feels as though it is on fire. It steals his breath and makes his eyes water, he arches his body out of reflex to the agony but that just makes it worse and he can't help but put voice to his pain.

His quiet moan quickly turns into a wail and then escalates into a scream.

He tells himself that he is screaming because of the pain.

That it has nothing to do with how hopeless he feels.

It doesn't take long for a nurse to come rushing in, brandishing relief in the form of a needle.

"Those pain meds wore off huh sweetie"

He doesn't answer, he doesn't need to. The screaming kind of speaks for itself.

She injects the medication into his IV and leaves without another word. He almost wanted to ask her to stay. To beg her not leave him alone with the demons that no one else can see.

Not there was anyone around to look.

His vision goes suddenly blurry and he wishes he could blame it on a concussion.

He feels shame rush across his cheeks as he realises he must have cried himself to sleep earlier. How pathetic.

Is this what he has been reduced to? A weak, worthless man that can't hold back a few tears?

_Reduced to. What the hell are you talking about DiNozzo? Reduced to? You haven't been _reduced_ to anything. This is you. This has always been you. You just covered it up._

He clenches his eyes shut and tells the tears that they aren't allowed to fall this time.

They fly open again as he sees his father's body hit the floor.

Is this how his life is going to be now?

Too scared to close his eyes because of what he might see?

Too scared to keep them open and risk his weakness leaking out?

He tries to focus on the pain again, but the meds have done their job and it is now no more than a vague sense of discomfort.

He doesn't have the pain to fight anymore, but he can fight the tears.

He can fight the pull of loneliness threatening to pull him under.

But right now he is tired and weak, and the pull is strong and unrelenting, desperate to drag him under to live in the darkness of his own despair.

He thinks it's going to win. He thinks it's going to drown him.

A tear slips down his face and then he knows.

It already has.

...

He feels awareness creeping in and he realises he must have fell asleep again, he wills himself to go back to land of unconsciousness. He doesn't care what might wait for him there, he would give anything to not have to open his eyes and see that painfully empty chair.

"Come on Tony, I need you to wake up for a minute"

He blinks as he realises what has disturbed him from his slumber.

A voice. A man's voice.

His heart surges for a moment in the hope that Gibbs is finally here.

"That's it open your eyes for me"

He is completely awake now, and he isn't alone. He jerks up suddenly as the realisation hits.

Pain instantly radiates through him and the room spins out of focus, reminding him that sudden movements aren't exactly a good idea right now.

"Take it easy, you're okay"

His heart deflates as quickly as it swelled when he hears the voice clearly.

It's a voice he doesn't recognise.

He looks up and sees a doctor standing over him.

He ignores his heart breaking all over again. He's used to it now.

"Well hello there. I'm Doctor White, nice to finally see you awake"

He just stares blankly at his smiling face and waits for him to get to the point.

The doctor doesn't seem fazed by his lack of response, he just carries on.

"How are you feeling?"

He still doesn't answer. He can't answer when he doesn't know.

"How would you rate the pain you're in at the moment?"

Depends on which pain doc.

"Tony, I need a little input from you here okay."

No it's not okay he wants to shout. Nothing is okay. Doesn't he know that?

He watches as Doctor White scribbles something down on his chart, he's surprised not to see annoyance or frustration in the man. He just seems resigned.

He meets his gaze and he turns away at the pity he sees in the man's face.

He closes his eyes and prays to god that he won't have to open them again.

"Okay Tony, you have a little more rest, maybe when you wake up you can give me some of that input we talked about"

He hears the doctor sigh and leave the room, and he feels sort of sorry for him. Because if he's waiting for his input he's going to be waiting for a while.

He can't give it.

He can't give anything anymore

There's nothing left.

...

**A/N. Thank you to all my wonderful reviewers, your comments and feedback mean the world to me, and thanks to anyone that just takes the time to read. And don't worry, I do have an explanation as to why Tony as alone!**

**Hope you all enjoyed this.**

**Kookykey**

**.x.**


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